


Too Late

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day of Grantaire's wedding, and Enjolras has resolved to let it - and him - go. Except for the fact that he just can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the original publishing on Tumblr, I highly recommend listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUjIhO2fqTE) on repeat while reading this because it will just add so much fun to it.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies as it always does. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

[ _Please come to the wedding_.]

Enjolras sighed and debated chucking his phone against the wall to avoid the messages that Courfeyrac had been sending all day. Instead, he muted it and went back to the law brief he was supposed to be reading, even if he continued reading the same paragraph over and over again.

Still, the messages kept coming:

[ _Please come._ ]

[ _Seriously_.]

[ _Everyone wants you here_.]

[ _GRANTAIRE wants you here._ ]

Enjolras couldn’t help but start at that, and for a moment, his fingers twitched as if to pick up the phone or respond, or else to grab his keys and leave (though he would perhaps want to change out of his stained sweatpants and holey t-shirt first), but just when he was thinking that was what he should do, he got another text message, this time from Combeferre: [ _I’m not telling you not to come, but make sure you’re coming for the right reason._ ]

That would be easier said than done — especially since Enjolras didn’t even know what the  _right_  reason would be. It had caused what he could only describe as a minor existential life crisis when he had opened the mail a few months ago to find an engraved invitation to an event that, honestly, he had always expected to be a participant in, rather than a guest: Grantaire’s wedding.

He might describe it as existential life crisis; anyone else would probably describe it as utter, absolute heartbreak.

To say their relationship had ended on a poor note was an understatement, and while their friends had done their best not to pick sides, Enjolras knew it was his fault. How could it not be? Grantaire had dedicated his heart and soul to their relationship — the first thing he had ever committed that much to — and Enjolras, well…he had somehow let it slip away.

And he knew that if he thought about it he could find a million different places where he could or should have done something to save things when he still had a chance, but finding all those places didn’t make anything better. They didn’t  _fix_  anything.

Because he still loved Grantaire.

But Grantaire, after their breakup and his subsequent downward spiral that Enjolras had only witnessed through the few things their friends had let slip, had also picked himself up again and found someone else to commit himself to, someone else to love the way he had once loved Enjolras, and had chosen to cement that commitment in the most legally binding way possible.

There was nothing Enjolras could do about that.

Well, there were certainly things Enjolras  _could_  do about it — he had entertained visions ever since seeing that cream-colored nightmare in invitation form of rushing to the church and bursting in mid-ceremony to stop this travesty, but… What would that accomplish if he did?

Their problems ran far deeper than a simple declaration of love, no matter how grand the scale, could solve, and he knew that. He knew that all the ways that he had messed up and hurt Grantaire were not open-and-shut matters but instead things that would take time and his utmost dedication to work out, and while he might have been willing to give that time — while he might have been willing to give all the time in the world — Grantaire most certainly was not, if ever he had been.

Abruptly, Enjolras stood, running an agitated hand through his hair, not caring if it made his curls stand on end, since who was liable to see him, anyway?

He couldn’t go to the wedding.

But if he didn’t, how could he ever tell Grantaire — how could he ever tell Grantaire any of the things he wanted to say? At the same time, of course, even if he went, how was he supposed to also tell Grantaire any of those things?

Didn’t he have to at least try, though? One more time?

It might be the second-worst mistake of his life (the first, of course, was losing Grantaire), but Enjolras knew that this was something that he had to do. He had known this was a mistake as soon as he had seen Combeferre’s instructions to only come for the right reason, but he couldn’t help himself, feeling for the first time as if this was as important as the cause (a feeling he should probably have had back when they were still together, but that wasn’t important at the moment). So he grabbed his keys and headed out of bedroom (and promptly headed back in because he really was not going to be wearing ratty sweats to interrupt the love of his life’s wedding).

The entire way downtown he rehearsed in his head what he was going to say and more importantly, how he would say it. He knew — in the more twisted parts of his mind where he tried not to tread too often — that Grantaire would listen, would excuse himself from his own wedding to hear Enjolras out, which made it important that Enjolras not repeat his past mistakes.

But at the same time, the only thing he could see in his mind was running into the church, bursting through the doors, and shouting, “Stop!”

So that was exactly what he did.

It was as dramatic as he could have hoped, pushing open both doors and bursting into the sanctuary as he shouted, “Grantaire!”

That was when it all fell apart.

Because instead of shocked faces turning to look at him, instead of Grantaire turning to face him, surprised but happy to see him, instead of seeing that asshole Grantaire was marrying as he realized his wedding was falling to pieces, Enjolras instead saw — no one.

The flowers still decorated the altar and the pews, rose petals were littered in the aisle, a few spare programs on the floor, but not a soul was in sight, and Enjolras visibly deflated, knowing that for all the speech he had prepared, for all the sacrifices he had been prepared to make, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference, in the end.

He sank down onto the steps at the front of the church, head in hands, ready to give himself over to uncharacteristic despair when suddenly, a voice called from the other end of the church. “You’re too late.”

Looking up, he saw Joly leaning against the door at the end of the sanctuary, and slowly shook his head. “I realize that,” he said, trying hard not to sound bitter, though he was sure it crept into the edges of his voice. “How did you know that I’d come?”

Joly didn’t answer that question, though to be fair, he didn’t really need to — they both knew the answer. Instead, he slowly crossed down the aisle, his expression grim. “I think the better question is  _why_  did you come?”

“I just thought…” Enjolras trailed off, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what I thought, but clearly I thought wrong. It’s over with.”

“For Grantaire, maybe,” Joly said quietly. sliding into the second pew and leaning forward to rest his arms on the back of the pew in front of him. “But what about for you?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be over for me,” he muttered, looking away. He shrugged again before trying to put on a brave voice. “Maybe it’s for the best, anyway.”

Joly cocked his head. “In what world would this be for the best?”

Enjolras shrugged, irritated — though more at himself than anything. “You remember what we were like together,” he said impatiently. “We were a disaster. He drank constantly. I worked constantly. We fought constantly.” He shrugged again, even though his words felt a little hollow to him. “Maybe we’re both better off.”

“And see,  _that_  is exactly why I think that this truly may be for the best.”

Joly’s voice had turned cold and Enjolras started. “Well, gee, Joly, tell me how you really feel,” he said, aiming for humor and missing terribly.

Joly just glared at him, unamused. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What happened to the man that I swore to go through fire for? Because you’ve turned into a pretty terrible approximation of him.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly, “but clearly you’ve got some feelings you want to get off your chest, so why not. Today’s already been the worst day of my life, so let me have it.”

“The worst day of your life?” Joly repeated incredulously. “No, the worst day of your life was the day you decided Grantaire wasn’t worth it.”

“Wasn’t  _worth_  it?” Enjolras repeated, his voice deathly quiet. “Where do you get the right—”

“I have  _every_  right,” Joly interrupted. “I have every right because I watched as my best friend fell in love and finally,  _finally_  got everything he ever wanted. And I watched as he lost all of that. Because you just gave up. And that’s what hurts worst of all.” Enjolras shook his head, trying to interrupt, but Joly barreled onward. “You will literally fight for the smallest causes and against the smallest injustices in this world, and that’s amazing, and we all love that about you, but when it comes to what matters most, you just never fought for it. When Grantaire needed you most, you never fought for  _him_.”

The breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat as he realized that was how his friends — how  _Grantaire_  — viewed the demise of their relationship, and he felt it like a pain in his chest, because he realized the worst thing was that they were  _right_. When things got hard, Enjolras buried himself in work, the same way that Grantaire lost himself in drink. “I…” he started, his voice small and a little broken. “That may be true. But it wasn’t because he wasn’t worth it. And besides—” He looked up at Joly, his voice getting stronger, angrier “—it isn’t like Grantaire fought for this either. Fought for  _us_.”

“Grantaire loved you,” Joly said evenly. “And he fought for you every day you were together. But when you pushed him away, he just assumed that it was because you had finally realized that you didn’t love him, just like he always feared the most. You know Grantaire — better than any of us, perhaps — and tell me, how do you expect him to fight back against all his worst and most inaccurate assumptions about himself?”

Enjolras’s hands curled into fists. “You cannot blame me for that part of Grantaire,” he said, furious. “I did  _everything_  in my power to prove the way he saw himself was wrong. I am not responsible—”

“No, you’re not,” Joly said quietly. “But Grantaire’s depression and self-esteem issues played a large role in what happened, and you knew about them. So don’t tell me you think Grantaire could have fought any harder than he did, because we both know it’s a lie.” For a long moment, they were both silent, until Joly shook his head slowly. “If you were to ask him, even after all of this, if you were to tell him that you still love him…I can’t promise he would go with you, but he would definitely think about.” Enjolras looked up at Joly, who took a deep, steadying breath before telling him evenly, “Which is why I’m asking you not to. Please. Give Grantaire a chance at the happiness that he should have had with you.”

Enjolras shook his head and whispered hollowly, “I’m not sure if I can do that.”

Joly shrugged and stood, turning his back on Enjolras as he walked away, assumedly to leave for the reception. “If you really loved him, you’d find a way.”

“I do love him,” Enjolras called after Joly, who didn’t turn back around, didn’t even pause in his step. “I just…” He trailed off, realizing there was no one there to listen to him anymore.

Slowly, numbly, he stood, walking on unsteady legs out of the church. When he got outside, he pulled the wedding invitation out of his pocket and took a long look at the address for the reception before letting the invitation flutter to the ground as he slowly walked away.


End file.
